The Punchline
by PrettyUnteal
Summary: The world seems to be playing a bit of a joke on all of it's inhabitants and there's only one man who might know the punchline. And the joke's on anyone who might have thought that he would die without taking everyone with him. He faked his own death only to pry further into the minds of unsuspecting Gotham citizens, what else could you expect from The Joker?
1. Chapter 1

AN:_** Hey y'all. This is going to be a probable 3-shot. I already have the makings of a sequel in my head but for now this was a story that I felt like drabbling out. I hope you all enjoy! - R**_

The coffee, previously having been scalding hot, had cooled so that the steam had stopped fogging her glasses. She rarely wore her glasses but on a day that she'd woken up late to bleak cold meant that some things had to be rushed. She didn't feel in much of a rush now.

The sugar packets in her hand had never made it into the cup—and she didn't much know what to do about it. In the other hand her iphone had long dimmed after the caller on the other line had hung up. It felt cliché to say that the world had gone quiet. Thankfully, the cliché didn't hold up for long because now it all seemed too loud. There were only two other people sitting in the dining area besides herself and their quiet chatting seemed too close and personal. Her hairline beaded with sweat from the heat that had risen to her cheeks— but she felt frozen shut. She didn't know how to call the waitress over to tell her to cancel the food she'd ordered, just like she'd forgotten how to sweeten her coffee.

All of the family deaths that occurred in her life had been in her childhood. There'd been a whole string where she, as an eight year old, had become quite used to the idea. But that was more than a decade ago. Her grandmother had long outlived her life expectancy. Really it should be a joy that she'd passed—free from suffering or something…maybe?

Her eyes were the first things to move, flicking over to the sugar packets still clutched in her hand concentrating on releasing them she looked at her phone and ensured that she was still just as late as she was when she'd hit her snooze for the third time. Unlocking her screen and scrolling through her contacts until she'd found the number to the school she dialed and put it to her ear though her eyes now stared at the coffee as the waitress set her food down before her with a smile that naturally went unseen.

"Hi, yes, it's Erin Fare, yes Ms. Fare from 217… Mhm, yeah I'm so sorry. No, no I'm not sick, I'm sorry, no I just got a call from my dad and my grandmother passed on last night…"

She trailed off, those weren't her father's exact words. In fact he'd said that she was _found _last night, by her neighbor. God only knew how long it had been that her grandma Eve had stayed there. Was she in her bed? On the ground? In the shower? Lilith finally closed her eyes as if to shut out the possible mental reality of her grandmother dying naked and alone. Swallowing to clear her tight throat she knew her voice sounded hoarse as she continued.

"Thank you, I appreciate that. It's just that I'm the only one of my family who's in Gotham and I have things to take care of…"

What sorts of things? She couldn't really remember. But dad would be emailing her as soon as he had access to the internet. The first stop was the hospital and then figure out some arrangements? Paperwork? She hadn't done this before. She wasn't sure if she felt old or young.

"Yes thank you very much, just let Mrs. Barksdale know I'm very sorry and I'll send her the lesson plans in a half hour. Thank you."

After she hung up. She reached into her wallet and pulled out a twenty and put it next to her untouched food. Her coffee was cold and it seemed improbable she could even remember to be hungry.

* * *

The train ride was filled with a buzzing that she couldn't determine was from the lights or in her head. But once she got out blinking into the harsh November sun, her walk began to Gotham general. She wasn't positive how she knew where to go. Maybe it was because of the repeated reports on the hospitals progress since it had been begun to be rebuilt three years ago. Though not fully finished to its former glory—what stood there now was growing and immaculate compared to the old hospital. It seemed to make a strange sense to her that morgues were built into hospitals; it would be so strange to carry the dead to another place once they died in one of the many rooms of Gotham general.

Her mind had created scenes of her crying dramatically, but instead she just felt small and inconvenient. Like she'd become this human doorstop for a long string of people coming into a place she wanted to leave. It was bizarre to fill out paperwork when she'd really expected scenes about her crying. Realizing how many papers she had on the clipboard that the nurse gave her, she quickly dialed her roommate's phone number.

"Amy, I'm not going into class today. Could you send Mrs. Barksdale my lesson plans?"

Amy knew her password, knew which folder to look into, and knew to send it to which email. They'd been roommates al through college and friends before that so Amy would naturally know something was wrong, but she would also do what Erin needed before asking any questions. But before Erin hung up the phone Amy said

"Don't worry about it sweetie, I'll see you tonight but hey, wait… is it like… an ice cream night or like a sick night, do you want me to pick up anything?"

Again, she'd felt her throat tighten up but her eyes stubbornly stayed dry. Even then she was thinking of all the things she had to do—overwhelmed by an onset of adulthood.

"No, I'll be fine, I'll just talk to you when I get home okay?"

* * *

When the seemingly endless paperwork does in fact come to an end she dimly returns to the receptionist of the waiting room.

"Hi, I filled in everything I could. There are some things I didn't know but…"

The woman behind the desk looked her over before tightening her lips in a smile as she took the offered clipboard.

"Don't worry honey. No one knows how to fill everything out, just as long as you can give the confirmation of your consent as the representative family then really you're all good. I'm sorry for your loss"

Erin nodded and offered what she hoped looked like a smile though she wasn't sure she got it right because her mind still had that buzz in the back like she'd forgotten to turn some timer off. Realizing that Erin didn't have a response the receptionist tilted her head.

"Did the nurse give you directions to the shelter?"

For a moment Erin felt her heart restart assuming that 'shelter' was some key word for morgue and that she _would _actually have to see her grandmother's body. Noting the stricken look on her face the receptionist was already typing something into the computer and pulling out a post it to write directions.

"Your grandmother's cat was taken to Mary's on 11th street. It's fine for the cat to stay there but if you can, I suggest you pick it up as soon as possible, it's better for it to be with family and I reckon it might be better for you too."

Erin took the post it and stared at the loops of the handwriting that belonged to a different generation and then looked back to the receptionist. She was only as old as her mom but suddenly she realized how old her mom was. Her mom that had now lost her own mom. Erin sort of wished she could cry to relinquish the tension in her throat but instead she made an attempt at some sort of formal thank you.

She'd apologized and thanked people all day long. Over the phone, at the shelter, the gas station attendant… everyone. There was so much to be done and she felt like a burden going about her own business and still she didn't cry. When she finally got back to her apartment twelve hours after she left it, Amy was sitting on the couch with her feet curled underneath her and obviously waiting for her roommates return.

Taking in Erin's expression and the fact she was carrying a whole pamphlet of paperwork, plus everything she'd been taking to school, and then a cat? in a crate in her other hand, Amy immediately got up.

"What happened to you today?"

* * *

Amy had thrown her arms around her the moment her stuff hit the floor. The forceful love was appreciated and reciprocated and still Erin's shoulders would not relax and she couldn't melt into it. She didn't even want to sit on the couch and talk about what a horrible day it had been and how horrible she felt. Erin carefully avoided mentioning her grandmother. She was now almost afraid she couldn't cry, or afraid she wouldn't stop when she started.

She went to bed without eating much and slept even less so when her alarm rang at five thirty for her to get up for school it had been another glasses day for sure. The students, in their rare way, picked up on her mood that week and were exceptionally well behaved. She'd only had them since that august and quickly they'd become near to her heart as they all do. Usually Erin's passion for her information lit her up from the inside but she couldn't get her head to be in one place for more than a moment.

It was three days since she'd been informed of Grandma Evie's death and therefore it had been three days since she'd brought the cat home. Boots, the twelve year old tabby, was Grandma Evie's last living cat and he was incredibly well behaved. She would have been content to keep him if Amy wasn't so allergic that she'd been wheezing for three days. Naturally Amy would wave off Erin's concerns saying—the cat is more than welcome.

But still, her guilt for her roommate's suffering meant that she took the cat with her all the way toward the narrows toward her grandmother's apartment.

Her dad had finally gotten an internet connection all the way in Papua New Guinea where both her parents studied. They were anthropologists who frequently took extended trips around the world—oftentimes when Erin was little she would have gone with them but since she started school, that wasn't a possibility. Now it had been a long time since she'd gone on one of those extended trips and now she had to take care of this by herself.

In his email, her father detailed Evie's will about most of her affects and what to do with the house until they could return sometime next week for the funeral. In other words, she was on her own. Well, not completely.

* * *

Upon stepping into her Grandmother's front door, Boots knew he was home and immediately darted out as soon as Erin bent down to open the cage. She couldn't help but laugh as he flopped over on the couch but it died quickly in her throat. Since the electric bill hadn't been paid it shouldn't have surprised her that the lights didn't obey the switch. She'd have to call in the morning.

For the time being she went to work finding candles, which made going through a dead person's house suddenly very creepy. There were all of her grandmother's things, waiting for their owner to come back and use them. Half a bottle of windex, clean dishes in the washer, a coat draped across the back of a chair. All of it was illuminated by little tea lights she'd set around the house as she began to hesitantly sort her grandmother's things. It was hard to justify getting rid of anything and it well after midnight, the piles around her had begun to look quite impressive.

The extent of her grandmother's stuff wasn't overly plentiful. Her grandmother believed in people more than things. She'd lived so close to the narrows and had worked hard to make a difference any way she could. After the second time she'd been robbed, Erin's parents had almost forced her to move but Evie was as stubborn as her granddaughter and stayed in a beautiful home surrounded by the derelict of Gotham's forgotten parts of the city.

For now, the area seemed quieter than usual, maybe in respect to the death of one of its own? Though Erin doubted it would ever be so well mannered.

She thought she would go back to her apartment, before she'd arrived in her grandmother's house, it seemed creepy to stay the night but as it got later she found comfort in the things and the pictures around her. Finally it was the weekend and she felt like she could concentrate about what mattered. Going to sleep in a bed that welcomed her with the smell of the lotion her grandmother wore on her hands, Erin had no preconception of what awaited her.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the sound of glass that probably woke her, though she wasn't sure about the content of the loud thumps and whether they were dream occurrences or a very surreal reality she was about to find. Upon waking her first course of action was to freeze under the sheets. The candles had all been extinguished and in the dark the weak light from the outside streetlights created ominous shapes out of the stacks. For a moment she laid still as a log, half wishing she could sleep instead of investigate, and the other half of her was staring at her phone wondering if she should immediately call the cops.

Very suddenly she remembered the cat and the spell was broken. Boots always loved it downstairs and though Erin had barley began to touch it; she had started to stack the glass figurines on top of table so she could start to dismantle the dresser.

Groaning she turned over and began to close her eyes knowing that the cat had probably left a bloody mess. Inwardly she cursed Grandma Evie for her bizarre collection—though it was one of the few things the older woman had kept, it was a running joke in the family for it adding creepiness. Evie had liked clowns and each figurine was intricately carved and colorful.

_And also very breakable _

She thought glumly, trying to go back to sleep—when the second apprehension of the night hit her. She didn't hear the cat run back up the stairs in alarm of the glass explosion what if Boots hurt himself.

"Ohhhhhhh…"

Finally she was pulling the covers off of her and rubbing warmth into her arms. The house was old and sealed surprisingly well so even without heat it had stayed warm with all the candles she lit. Now, it was freezing. As an afterthought, she took the comforter from its rightful place and wrapped it around her shoulders instead.

Making her way through the dark of the house was easy. Evie had kept the same house for her whole adult life so when Erin hadn't been away with her parents in whatever country they had funding to study in—she'd been here. In the summertime she'd help volunteer and in the winter she'd watch Scooby Doo and help wrap presents. All these days Erin had felt like some ill prepared adult—able to take care of death and paperwork while having to teach as well. This was the first time she felt like the granddaughter of the woman who died. Sneaking around in her grandmother's house, scared for the cat and wishing she could just sit down on the couch and watch Scooby doo, and the comforter half trailing behind her because it was too big for her 5'3'' form.

The basement wasn't finished, and like with old city houses, the ceilings were low. At least the wood felt warm on her cold feet because it didn't carry the cold like the rest of the stone in the basement did. And it was cold. Much colder than the upstairs.

Trying to keep the comforter on while blindly searching the table by the stairs for the candle and lighter she knew she left, was all together a funny thing. Her arms barely peeking out of the warm she lit it quickly and then another. The candle filled up a good portion of the basement, relief from its profound blackness. It was enough so she could see the scattered shards of one of the many colorful clowns she'd lined up.

"Oh Boots… Okay… Come on baby. C'mon kitty kitty kitty.."

Her calls didn't immediately get results so she went slightly forward toward the mess. The colors of red, white, yellow and green would have twinkled if there'd been enough light. It was one of Evie's favorites, one of the first clown statuettes that she'd started gathering over a decade ago. They had been so unique, perfect clown faces in higher modern fashions of suits and dresses. The colors had almost made it impossible to notice that amidst the shards were single drops of blood.

"…Oh no, poor baby. Where are you little dumbass."

Doubling her efforts while bending down and clicking her tongue, she was careful to avoid the blood drops. They were big and she couldn't help but feel that tightness in her throat return. The panic of having to hold a bloody cat filled her with the same anxiety that she'd been feeling since her dad's phone call three days ago. Grandma Evie had loved these figurines and loved this cat it seemed as if…

Just as her thoughts were about to turn for the truly depressing she was rewarded with a meow from the darkness to her left and soon enough Boots appeared in the limited light of the candle. His purr started from before she'd even put her hands on him, rubbing her fingers all over his fur in order to soothe but also to inspect.

"You stupid thing, oh my god, are you okay? You saw me putting those out you little dumb cat…"

And still as her fingers searched the warmth of his fur they came back… Clean. She couldn't find a drop of blood on him.

"Well if you aren't bleeding then…?"

Her brow furrowed as she looked at the cat. Suddenly the relaxed purring form went tense and he jumped from her hands just as a voice crept up into her ears from behind her.

"Well in this case, curisotityyy has left the cat **safe **though I'm no**t **sure how it's going to leave youuu."

The drawling voice seemed to suck all of the air from her diaphragm. Much like the fear that she'd felt upon waking up to shattering glass, everything had frozen and still somehow her body jerked around involuntarily to the threat. Still leaning on the ground near the shards of color she faced a figure of the drawling voice. With the candles on the table behind him, the form appeared cut out from the dark. But every hint that the limited light revealed heightened the crushing realization that she knew that voice. All of Gotham knew that voice.

"I guess now the only thing that can save **you **is a bit of satisfaction-ah ha ha…"

His feet dragging as he took a single step forward. She could smell the blood, and she saw the brief hints of purple around his impressively suited form, but mostly she felt her heart contracting and her eyes so wide she felt they were coming out of her head.

Comically slow as if trying not to scare her, he leaned down in front of her on the haunches of his feet.

"….So?"

He'd prompted, and she could smell his breath up close, smell the strange mix of musk and decay.

"**_Are you satisfied_**?"


	3. Chapter 3

The growl reverberated. But it also did the trick of turning her nightmare into a sort of terrifying reality. With a somewhat strangled gasp her hands thrust up in front of her as if they intended to shove him. Inwardly she hissed at herself wondering _why _that was the sort of defense she was taking. Why not use that energy to run away? Why wouldn't she immediately go for clawing his face? Why was she trying to push him like they were on the playground?

Despite the quickness of her body her mind moved through like sludge, intoxicated by the fear that was pounding through it. This gave her more than enough time to be surprised when her hands actually made contact with his shoulders and the center of his chest, shoving him with all of her might. The more appalling thing was that it _worked._

He'd sprawled backwards with a laugh and subsequently wheezed his amusement. Like there was nothing he'd rather have than a deranged attempt at self defense. The movement had thrust his face into the light of the candles that distorted his painted features with shadows even more ominous. Clutching his center, he'd laughed breathlessly and she was watching him. Horrified and fascinated that she'd knocked him over, she was still on the floor and still half surrounded by a pink down comforter and shaking. Her body seemed to move as slowly as she half stood, while keeping her eyes on him. She'd knocked down a nightmare and looking slowly at the hands that did it she quickly figured out why. Her left hand and the thumb of her right one were both covered in blood. The blood she could see staining the center left of his shirt as he laughed.

Suddenly she'd wanted to laugh too, though she had a feeling that was more along the lines of sleep deprivation and grief. An inappropriate emotional response that might not have yielded any positive results.

"W-well **you're **not very _welcoming."_

He accused from the ground, his head tilted up enough to look at her though even in the dim light she suddenly realized the effort that was taking from his body. He was injured and it was _bad _perhaps not a mortal wound if he'd had medical attention but from his sorts she guessed that he hadn't had much of that. This all paled in comparison to the next realization that she had, which promptly sprang out her mouth in a strained exclamation.

"Y-y-you're supposed to be _dead_!"

The realization was almost shocking enough to clear her vision straight from her and she finally shakily rocketed herself backwards. He watched her calculated and cold even from his pose on the ground.

"_Ahhhh _well… **half**"

Once again he'd pitched into a low giggle, his face stretching almost painfully to pronounce a grin.

"N-no I mean on the-… On the news they said that. They said that…"

Her brain searched for the announcement her brain was trying to get at, but her body was still concentrating on tensing up for a fight.

"they found your **BODY **I mean they identified you a week ago… you're supposed to be.. you're. I mean people had **parties**!"

She very suddenly realized that was not the thing to say and she stared at him expectantly for some sort of reaction. When he just raised his eyebrows, his tongue peeking out to creep along his lips before smacking.

"You're a dream?"

Even as she said it, she knew it was utterly wrong. Reality was pulsing through her veins and it was so very present in his surreal gaze.

"…Well they did find a body. But it just wasn't _the _bodyyy."

He gestured to himself, running his hands down his suit front and further drawing her attention to the growing stain.

"You…faked your death."

She said it slowly, confusingly enough her feet took a step toward him. The blinding panic that had frozen her so still had developed into a thudding into her ears. She thought of her cell phone which was upstairs and probably dead since she had no electricity to plug it in. But weirdly enough it didn't seem to be something to call the cops for—not when she wasn't being actively threatened.

If she was outside of herself she would have felt the ability to muster up intense hatred but instead all she felt was surprise and horror—but the kind you get when you're looking at a local accident with all your neighbors.

"Well **_yeah _**had to see which **scoundrels **could be trusted with anything, uh, _delicate._"

He dissolved briefly into a fit of giggles.

"When of course the answer was **none of them could**. They all had to be taken. Care. Of.—they weren't part of the teeeeam."

He hissed through his teeth and she couldn't help but wonder if he was fully conscious. It seemed to be only will power that had been holding him up like a string before. This gave her confidence to step forward briefly. His hooded eyes observed her. Under the shadows of the candle light he looked like a demon but it also emphasized the ridges of his face, and made the blood on his shirt look black. He might have faked his death before but this time seemed pretty real to her. Finally putting the comforter down slowly she decided whether or not she was going to approach him or flee; she probably shouldn't do it with a cape made of goose feathers.

"What do you want?"

At this he raised his eyebrows, giving her a ridiculously incredulous expression before bursting out into a full bodied laugh that was forceful enough for her to actually see the strain on his wound. And oh god he was wearing three visible layers and thinking of all the blood that was actually present made the drying blood on her hand itch.

"Well I'm here for the **party! **This place is in the need of a _kick_start"

At least he was making himself laugh because all he was doing to her was making her feel anxious. Fighting the urge to wipe her hand off on her pants or anywhere she watched him wearily.

"See… You see dollface a **_bullet _**is such a tiny thing that can make a **big impact-**uh. And I was fiiiiine until I had to pull it _out _and nooooooow."

He put his hand over his chest, giving her what may have been a charming smile.

"It appears I may be in need of some ah, assistance."

She was already shaking her head and backing away. Stare at him like he was a violent car wreck? Yes. But actually _helping _him wasn't on her docket. She could run to the neighbors and she bet that she could take him if she had to. That made her stop cold.

She definitely didn't want to fight him. The hand with his blood on it burned like it was irritating her skin now. She realized quickly that the only she did want was for this not to be real. He watched her slow movements backwards right up until her bare foot caught one of the shards of the broken clown and in her wince and quick glance down—she sealed the rest of her fate.

He'd moved faster than a person should. His calculated gaze had been more conscious than she'd realized and had fixated for the most perfectly time strike that he could offer. All he'd had to do was twist his body to be able to sweep her unprepared form to the ground with a hook of his foot. He laughed as she crashed to the cement.

Her elbow meant to break her fall but on the unfinished basement floor, it sparked a pain that almost made her nauseous. She felt the pounding in the back of her head as well but not before he'd already crawled over her.

Now every bit of her skin squirmed. The reality of him was so close that it was almost suffocating and she did half gag. Though that might have been because of the smell. The blood was… intolerable.

"No, please no…"

But he hadn't done anything. The moment she felt herself hit the ground she suspiciously wondered if he'd purposefully lead her into a false sense of security. Had he faked his injuries? In the dark she couldn't see much of his face but she could feel the harsh breath on her neck as he maneuvered himself over her. She had a feeling that his panting was excited in nature but also the exertion of his injuries. The blood at least wasn't fake, and she could feel the irritation of his wound along with it's nauseuating pulse of blood over her shirt.

"Now **_nooooow._**"

He shushed her sympathetically with a pout.

"I've been playing so nicelyyy with you. I don't think you're being a very good hostess."

With a meaningful expression she was almost sure was meant to chatise her he leaned in even closer.

"Maybe it's because it's not your house, hm? So what are ya, a squatter? A buuuurgaler?"

He looked down on her briefly as if her outfit would match his 'suspicions'. She wondered briefly how he got the idea that it wasn't her house. But that line of thought was cut short when she found herself in even more of a struggle to breathe as he shifted menacingly over her diaphragm.

"I'm a neighbor, I'm here to feed the cat while the owner is away…"

She barely wheezed out a reply on her limited supply of air. Despite the fact he wasn't threatening her in any immediate way the threat loomed over her nonetheless and her eyes were wide as if trying to see into his mind. Unsure fully as to why she was lying but somehow felt that it would save her, she waited for the reply.

"Well neighborr."

The edge of his words almost sounded like the purr that Boots would make when she'd take too long to open up his can of food. He punctuated the voice by reaching with one gloved hand to squeeze her right cheek affectionately.

"I have a job for you, get it? And the payment is **you get to live. **Which I think is a uh, worthyyy reward."

He waited expectantly while his hand tightened on her face until she could feel her teeth biting into the inside of her cheek. Up this close it had a metal smell to it, almost like pennies, but she couldn't tell if that was the blood or something more industrial. Finally she got the clue to nod, realizing she didn't have a choice but to agree.

"Good girl…"

The mutter was distracted and much to her chagrin, and the pain of his bones cracking over hers, he rolled off of her and shooed her away with his hand.

"Rubbing alcohol, needle, and the most durable kind of thread you can find."

His voice sounded bland now. And he actually had the gall to close his eyes. Finally realizing that she had free use of her limbs she moved slowly as if not to break whatever peace had momentarily come over him. Once fully standing she stared down doubtfully down at the clown. Just as she was about to actually turn her back on him, he spoke again.

"And honey. I would tryyy not to add anything else to that list. I don't uh **want **to hurt you but you see… I've done a lot of things tonight that I didn't fully _want _to and I'm not in much of a mood to be forgiving…"

Erin glanced over her shoulder, hesitating for a minute before stating slowly.

"There's no power down here so I uh, should probably get a flashlight too?"

She wasn't sure if she was asking or telling him but she'd made the mistake of looking directly over to him. In the new angle he was in she couldn't observe his scarred visage but she could _feel _him looking over her. Almost imperceptibly he'd nodded, and before her dignity had anything to say about it, she'd darted up the stairs.

AN: _**So Unfortunately I've been a bad human and ended up making the last chapter farrrrr too long. It was supposed to be a cute little 3 shot and the third chapter was this twelve paged monster (not even done) so I was like. Okay, new plan. So one or two chapters on the way! I'd love some feedback but mostly I just hope you like it. - R**_


	4. Chapter 4

Once upstairs she'd had the strange sensation of coming out of a movie theater in the middle of the day. Like reality had been suspended for hours and she was still lost in a different storyline. It was even bright up here compared to downstairs. The light filtered through sheer white curtains from outside. Everything looked cold as if it wasn't accessible to her anymore. Instead she'd moved with the purpose of one possessed. Reaching above the stove she went into the cabinet she remembered being opened on holidays. When relatives brought a bottle of wine it would go up here. When a toast was to be made, someone would stretch above the stove to the left side of the cabinet. And yes, indeed, there was about half a bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid appeared darker in the sparse lighting but she trusted the label. Next she went to her grandmother's closet. Mechanically moving the white and green trimmed sewing box out so she could see a needle and compare the spools of thread to one another. Selecting a thread that was made for outdoor furniture, meaning it was much tougher and thicker than normal cotton thread, she put the needle in the spool. Only then did she notice her hands were shaking terribly and she tried to quiet them as she reached for the shelf at the top of the closet. Feeling around for the flashlight she knew to be there somewhere she then stared at the materials she'd gathered.

She was going to do this.

She was going to do this?

Dizzy with disbelief and feeling suspiciously drugged, she'd made her way down the basement and found… nothing. A streak where the clown prince had been on the floor last and then. Nothing?

Looking around in sudden alarm, she then remembered to flick the flashlight on. Somehow this didn't calm her nerves in the slightest and the beam shook around the basement frantically. So jumpy that she'd almost missed him. He'd moved himself to the left, slightly more hidden against the wall in a seated position. And on his lap was… Boots. Boots, the world's most snuggly cat had apparently decided that the Joker was a warm and welcoming individual. But more importantly, the Joker had apparently decided to reflect that and had a hand over the top of the cat.

Once again she'd felt the urge to laugh but illogically her sinuses prickled like she would start to tear up if she even showed the slightest sign of mirth.

It was all so _wrong _in her beautiful and beloved grandmother's house he'd come and left blood and decimated one of her beloved figurines. And now her tender old cat was seated on the lap of evil and here her granddaughter was holding the means to patch him up.

She felt sick, she felt…

"Come here."

His voice wasn't loud, but he would have had to have been dead to not have noticed the light right on his face. Jerkily making her way toward him her face was impassive. She was suddenly weirdly glad that she hadn't planned on sleeping over at her grandmothers. If she had, then she'd probably be wearing her cupcake pajamas and that would have just been too much. That would have been the limit.

He roughly pushed the purring cat away from him, and without a look to Erin he'd grabbed the whiskey bottle from her hand to look at the label. Deftly popping the lid with his thumb he poured it with one had onto his glove and put it to his mouth to taste. Appearing satisfied he put the bottle to the side and shifted so he could sit up and then pulled his eyes up to look at Erin through the black holes in his face.

"**_Welllll_**?"

It was then she realized that he'd opened the bottle with one hand was because he'd probably lost most movement in his left arm. The wound was incredibly near his shoulder and probably burned like fire to even attempt to lift it around. As lively as he seemed she could also see the line where his make up stopped on his neck and he looked sickly pale. These observations were quickly followed by the tumbling truth that he expected her to directly help him.

"Oh…"

She felt like he had chosen to sit on her diaphragm again. Moving forward toward him though staying as far away as she could she touched the lapels of his jacket before being overcome by nerves.

"What do I…"

"**Take it ****_off_**"

The growl succeeded in adding speed to her indecisive movements. Trying to imagine anywhere but here didn't work when she was also sickly fascinated by what she was doing. First, she had to lean forward to remove his suit jacket. It came off rather easily and though she knew she wasn't doing a perfect job of not irritating his wound he didn't show so much as a grimace.

_Does this guy have an infinite tolerance to pain?_

The answer was more than probably a yes. Having revealed the lightly patterned shirt beneath she noted it was stained with sweat. Even if he was immune to pain, the stress of his body was still apparent. She'd tried to get the vest off by going over his head and shifting her weight toward him she still couldn't pull it without forcing it. So quickly changing tactics she switched to the buttons. Very suddenly she became aware of how unnerved she felt. In fact this whole thing had placed a weird sense of calm that had numbed her more than the chill of the house. He was just letting her work, his hand now on the cat that had stayed at his side. Having unbuttoned his vest she went to the dress shirt beneath so that she wouldn't have to move his arm twice. And finally upon doing so she revealed, thankfully, a striped tank top on the underneath. It was only then that she remembered the purpose and having to stray even closer to him to get his arms out of the sleeves she kept her eye on the wound. Overall it had almost stopped bleeding.

"They bleed when you remove the bulle**t**. And it allll just comes out and then starts so slow down again no matter if the person is _dying _or if they're _heeealing_."

His gaze was imploring and shockingly close in the dark.

"So which are you?"

The Joker chose to stay silent in the matter, instead moving to the bottle and tipping it toward her almost as if to toast and then promptly poured it onto the wound which was revealed by the sleeveless shirt. As he let out a wheeze a grin spread over his face that he tilted up toward the ceiling. She'd taken this time to look him over. The sleeveless shirt took away from some of his terror, though she knew the moment he'd straighten it would be back in full force. Really what taking away the coat had done had taken away his boxed silhouette. Instead he had these broad shoulders and a waist that was actually quite thin. He wasn't bulked out and she probably knew men who were physically stronger but she wonder if she had ever known any that could ever really beat him in a fight. She thought back to the way he moved it had been so…

Violent.

Precise?

Predatory…

Lost in her thoughts, she stared as the amber liquid of the whiskey soaked in right next to the blood just as began to hum. Dragging her eyes back to his face she speculated as to the seemingly aimless tune passing by his lips just as he abruptly grabbed at her hands.

Something of a noise of protest passed her lips that sounded suspiciously like _Oh Lordy _which was something her **mother **says. But he only pawed at her for the thread in still clutched in her hand. He brought it down to his currently less usable arm , holding the needle in the one hand and attempting to string it in the dark.

The tension in her neck had reached to new heights and she had already wondered whether she could dare to shift her uncomfortable position of how her legs were folded under her. This sort of gave her the opportunity.

"Here… I can…"

She offered her hands, hoping he'd get the clue as to what she intended to do. Thankfully he seemed to and he dropped the spool instantly with a gruff response of

"Stitch me up, Doc…"

Once again she wondered whether he was manipulating her and acting more helpless than he was. Though that would explain the sudden splatter of drops of his blood. Morbidly she idled on the notion that he probably had some bloody bullet somewhere in Grandma Evie's basement.

Steeling her inner self to push away any malignant thought, she put the needle over the light in order to at least attempt to see the hole. Everytime she failed she apologized until the third time where he finally snapped, grabbing her wrist he hissed in her face.

"Alllll right. I understand this is all… **new **for you. But it's gooooood to try new things and I may be a patient man…"

She couldn't help the incredulous expression that blossomed on her face at the notion of this _clown _being in the same universe as a patient person. Whether he noticed and didn't care, or didn't see because it was dark, he continued on seemingly oblivious to her facial protest.

"Just try to _improvise. _Talk to me about yourself…"

He shook her hand to emphasize his point, her shadow casting some spastic form of a puppet show by the light of the flashlight. Boots had returned from the Joker's rejection—probably wondering why no one was paying attention to him—and snuggled past her. Taking a steady breath she attempted the needle again.

"I… I'm a teacher."

Technically that wasn't true. She was only a student teacher, her last semester at school, but she thought staying close to the truth while still offering lies was her best gave a hmmm in reply. Settling himself against the wall. Seemingly placated for now she felt herself relax if only for a minute. After finally shifting the thread through the impossible eye she sighed in relief and brought it to her shoulder.

"And uh… I've actually done this before."

At this he cracked and eye open. She could see him observing her out of the corner of her eye. Erin suddenly flashed back much like she had in the kitchen, only this time it was in a very different setting on one of her parents many travels.

"I've been in Gotham my whole life, but my parents go away for years at a time. Not everywhere is like Gotham"

Like she'd been taught, she pinched the skin, passing the needle through.

"Of course… most people aren't like you, I've never done this to someone who wasn't screaming or crying…But most of the time, I was just watching someone else do it. Cause health care isn't always an option in the places I've visited."

She continued to stitch, staring at fascination in the wound near his clavicle.

"I don't have any formalized training in the US, actually this is the first time I've done this since I was like…sixteen."

She hadn't brought scissors. But that was probably best because he wouldn't have approved of any weaponry, even of the domestic sort. Looking over his coat that was now on the ground she realized it was probably stupid to assume that he was unarmed even then. His skin was hot and warm and human, and in the half dark she couldn't tell if he was less frightening or whether she'd gone into shock.

Instead she realized she had to make due without the scissors, and it was on her eighth stitch that she had to make a secure enough loop before hesitantly leaning in to bit the thread with her teeth. Holding her breath so she wouldn't have to smell him she closed her eyes just as his voice rumbled over her.

"And you still became a boring _teacher _huh, that's funny…"

He chuckled as if it was in fact a very witty joke.

"Followed in Granny's footsteps huh?"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth just as her teeth snapped the rather industrial thread. Only after leaning back did she taste the blood on her tongue and realize what he said.

"Granny…?"

She'd told him she was the neighbor. How would he know…

"Well **yeah **you think I just show up in houses of strangers? Do you think I play house calls for just _anyone?"_

His nasally voice was almost playful but the numbness of her shock was giving away to blind panic. A moment too late her adrenaline only got to her feet by the time his good hand was around her throat and he was twisting her toward him. She went still, playing dead in order to think about her potential best options.

"Seeeee I know she had a uh beautiful **granddaught****_err _**and you filled in a couple holes too many so now I'm just wondering whyyyy you're here and she is mistakenly absent?"

Erin didn't answer, and he was shifting further over her, pushing her into the wall he'd been leaning on.

"Ive been pushing on that conscious line for the past half hour orrrr sooo. But I'm fairly certain that you said you were feeding the cat. Meaning that _Eeeevie _has either taken a long vacation or a **longer **vacation, if you get my meaning?"

He tilted his head forward, hoping for an answer from the woman he was currently depriving of all oxygen. Finally realizing he wasn't releasing his pressure, Erin grabbed for his hand, her fingernails scraping against his glove. She didn't want to do anything that would peg her as a fighter. She didn't want to do it until she had to and was certain she had a chance at winning. Because if she tried it too soon then he would be angry and watchful or angry… and kill her. And at this point there had been no appearance of a weapon and she really hoped to keep it that way. He'd finally released her throat and her hand stayed on his while her other hand was on his wrist—hoping to hold him away from doing the same thing immediately after her answer.

"She died."

He nodded as if he'd expected the answer.

"Mmm**hmmm **and uh _how _did she die?"

Horrified at the sudden prick of tears she began to scream in her head though her voice came out in a tight whisper.

"Sh-She had bad lungs I think…"

"You _think"_

She wasn't sure why he was pushing this except that he was jeered on by the scent of her tears—that would be so like the monster she'd heard so much about, to be able to sense that she was weak and therefore push on it for no other satisfaction than to hurt.

"W-well I didn't ASK I didn't want to _know_"

She could have sounded indignant though it was much more pathetic than that, her final word choked her up. Her dad had just said she'd passed on. It had caught her off guard. Grandma Evie had been fine, she'd been more than fine, they were supposed to have lunch tomorrow. She was going to bring her lesson plans and compare them to what Evie used to do when she started teaching. Oh god, she hadn't come to terms with this, she hadn't been ready for it. She hadn't talked to Amy, or Mrs. Barksdale, or her parents about it. But this was the woman she'd stayed with every school year her parents were away and unable to find her proper education where they went. This was the woman who'd inspired her to teach, and to volunteer. This was the woman who laughed and told dirty jokes and who used to fight grown men in boxing rings while wearing a mask because women couldn't compete.

This _amazing _thing had just been snatched from Erin and now she was in the house of a dead woman who she wished was alive with a murderous **clown **everyone thought was dead.

"It was just s-so sudden. I thought if you th-thought I was just a neighbor you wouldn't, you wouldn't think I'd care to call the cops as much so you'd let me **go **I don't know I don't want to die… Please don't…"

At that she actually started crying, half oblivious to the fact he was roughly petting her face.

"All right sh sh sh"

Finally catching her attentions with a few light slaps and then a pinch to her cheek she attempted to open her eyes but at that moment he chose to hoist her up… by her face. She half shouted in protest, obviously following the motion instinctively so he didn't _actually rip her face off _

It might have even been more disturbing to realize that he didn't even actually mean to—or maybe he just didn't care if it happened either way. He was already kicking the seat of her pants.

"Get up—let's go. You're gonna do me another faaaavor."

His growl behind her made the shakiness of her limbs return and she had more than a little difficulty in steeling herself for the ascent up the wooden stairs this time especially knowing that he was going to follow her. And he did.

Closely enough so he was almost stepping over the backs of her feet. All the while his voice floated up behind her so that the stairwell suddenly felt agonizingly long.

"How about I tell _you _ a story this time? **Hm**

mlfjwoeijf**Hm**? It's about a uh teacher who took her job a liiiitle too far-uh. She got pretty **involved **with a lot of people who later became prett_yyy_ well **dangerous.**"

She got to the top just as Boots ran past her and into the kitchen, almost tripping her. Directly after, the Joker shoved past on her other side, strutting into the kitchen. Well at least **he **had some energy back, meanwhile she was shaking like a leaf.

Apparently, the Joker was not immune to the thirst that his blood loss must have attributed to because he turned on the faucet full blast. She shakily went over the cat's choice of perch on the counter and raised a hand to pet him but lost some of her nerve halfway through and instead just kept it on him until he awkwardly shifted away from her with a scornful expression.

She glanced over at the Joker who had shrunk down to half his size to stick his head under the running faucet.

Erin felt transfixed by the image of him slowly standing as the water fell over him. His hair now plastered to the sides of his head she wondered how he wasn't freezing. He seemed to have forgotten she was there and she half heartedly edged toward her grandmother's bedroom before reminding herself of the likelihood of a dead phone and no weapons besides the sewing scissors.

Naturally, he'd read her mind and half turned so that she could see his profile, his painted face dripping.

"Don't be rude, I was telling a _story._"

She politely? went still, even crossing her hands to show her compliance. He slowly turned, walking toward her with motions that reminded her of when she used to try to get close enough to a bunny to touch one of its soft ears.

"**Evelyn ****_Fare _**is an important woman in Gotham history you know"

The Joker nodded as he approached the "bunny" aka a very still Erin.

"Before she'd opened up her home and _heeeart _to every derelict scoundrel in Gotham… She was a scoundrel princess herself"

He grinned and he could see him better now. Suddenly she realized that it had been growing steadily lighter in here since when she first went down. She must have slept longer than she thought.

"Plucked from poverty she made a name for herself and donated it allll to the good people of Gotham."

The Joker was close enough now where Erin's attention was returning to the threat of him. But all he did was put his hands on her shoulders.

"You can trust me when I sa**y **that her death was no**t **an _accident._"

Suddenly he leaned in, bending down almost as if to kiss her. Flinching back at the contact, he paid no notice as he rubbed the thick scars of his cheeks onto her. She felt the dripping makeup transfer color onto her and she brought up her arms to push him away if this got any stranger.

"But unfor-tu-natelyy I can tell you're not part of the **gaaaame **so do yourself a favor and try not to meet any more big players, hm?"

He leaned down even further to rub his face against her clavicle, inhaling suddenly in the crook of her neck. It suddenly cued in that he was **marking her **putting his scent on her like Boots did everytime she got home. It also cued into her that her shaking had come to near earthquake levels and goosebumps had risen over maybe every area of her body. Her head spun with the story he told and his proximity though she also knew she wasn't absorbing it right.

"But just so _they _know to take this all a .seriouslyy."

He trailed off and his hands fell slowly from her shoulders as he looked about suspiciously.

"Where's your phone?"

He barked, his jerky movements seeking to locate it, when she stared blankly at him and gestured weakly toward the bedroom he'd rolled his eyes and trudged toward the bedroom at her gesture. Watching his back was more than strange and she didn't know whether she was supposed to follow him, just as she began to get anxious he returned, already flipping through her phone. Turning his mouth comically down so that his scars puckered he looked at her background appreciatively,

"_Nice."_

No doubt, his commentary was due to the fact her phone background was of her and Amy both strung out on some beach on Cancun that neither of them remembered. They'd spent days drinking away their collective breakup with shitty boyfriends, and one of the people passing by had been kind enough to take pictures with the girls' own phones so they could commemorate being drunk enough on the beach to pass out.

Erin recalled this memory and felt her face redden to almost the same shade as her sunburnt skin was in that picture. But he'd already moved on his attention by putting the phone to his ear all the while muttering as it connected to whoever he was calling.

"What kind of **woman **leaves their phone on uh 1 per_cent-_uh…"

Suddenly he was holding it to her ear and gesturing wildly that she should continue.

"… Hi…Yes I'm here…"

Erin said quietly as a woman's voice prompted her to speak.

"_What is your emergency?"_

The woman was no doubt repeating a question she'd asked while the Joker had been muttering to himself. Currently he was over by her cat, given it affectionate head scratches.

"I think the Joker is here."

The Joker nodded to the cat as if confirming. In her ear the woman questioned more but Erin began to lose the ability to understand and fell silent at the questioning. She didn't know what he expected her to say and didn't know what any of it meant. She leaned weakly against the wall.

"Ah, yes…he's downstairs in my basement he is…hurt…"

She said the last word slowly, completely unsure while he seemed completely content.

"No… no… I can't stay on the line he…"

He was nodding in confirmation, straightening to look at her as Boots abandoned them both to go lay on the couch.

"I'm at my grandma's house."

She replied stupidly when the operator asked for her address. But truthfully her throat had nearly swollen itself shut in panic as the steady trickles of dread crept into her spine, it was a wonder she could respond at all. Not like it mattered. They'd be able to trace the call with that long spent on the line and if not it wasn't like they would get here in time. He meant to kill her. And be gone by the time they got here. And it was a message. One that she herself was currently delivering herself. Her eyes filled with tears but didn't spill over, much to her relief. She'd already cried once and it seemed pointless to do it now. Her phone, much to its fate, gave the notice beep that the 1% had finally dwindled to a powerless hunk of machinery.

They both stood frozen in their observation of each other before Erin got the hint to start._running_.


	5. Chapter 5

She didn't want to die. He could see it plainly in the way she struggled. Even those that _did _want to die ended up struggling in the end but she'd been fighting this whole time. Holding back, waiting for it, until she could strike.

And strike she did. The moment he'd caught her from behind she turned into a very different thing from the slip of a girl covered a blanket. Every muscle strained and some of them were plainly used to the workout. He made a brief mistake in leaving his coat downstairs, all he had in his pants was the **business **knife and this was really more of a pleasure trip.

Letting out the hiss of a laugh through his teeth he fought to keep her restrained and _lost. _She'd popped her head back so far on her neck she must have hurt herself though she wouldn't feel it until later, the Joker, however, felt it immediately. Having headbutted him perfectly above his orbital ridge his vision sparked and spotted for a moment while she relentlessly both kicked his shin and tilted her body forward intending to run again. He knew he would go down, yet, he intended to bring her down with him. They both crashed to the floor and he both heard and felt her knees hit the hardwood. And still she fought, not allowing him to crush her to a lying flat position she was kicking her legs and army crawling away.

_And he laughed._

Oh he couldn't help it.

The blood loss had made him weak.

And true, maybe he needed a little more sleep or food?

But all together with as ready as he always was—he still would have found her strong still would have found her irresistible.

Hell he was on his knees already and scrambling to make sure she couldn't shut him out of her grandmother's bedroom that she'd run into. Thrusting his bad arm into the open doorway so he could use his good hand to struggle against her body weight which was currently putting every ounce of strength onto the door.

Her scream of "**No!**" was violent against the sounds of their struggle, her voice reverberated. Yet he hadn't brought her to terror yet. Something told him that she wasn't in her prime either so all in all this was impressive.

But they were both running shorter on time than she knew. So reaching into his front pocket he abruptly took the opportunity to run it along the open four inches in the door, selectively nicking some part of her body in the process. It must have hurt because she half screamed and let up for juuuuust enough of a millisecond where he forced his bad shoulder into the door… hard.

Not only did it send her sprawling on the other side of the room but he'd heard the frame of the entry crack satisfyingly. Even by the time he'd entered, she was already switching tactics to grabbing the sewing kit she'd taken out before.

Being the gentleman he was and attempting to not rip out the majority of her guts so quickly, the Joker kept the handle facing her as he half tackled her to the floor all the while she was screaming

"No no noNONOn"

He couldn't help the wheeze of laughter. He was more prepared this tiem for pinning her, more ready for the strength she hadn't shown up til now.

"All **right **cup_cake _eh heh _heh_."

He couldn't stop, his diaphragm quivered. He wanted to enjoy this but oh the time. Finally pinning what he made sure was the entirety of her kicking legs caused him bruises in more places than one. She was taking every cheap and legitimate shot she could get at him and the moment her legs were restrained he felt her free hand claw down the side of his face. Blood, immediately followed, she'd gotten him good. But it was a consolation prize because now he had her entirely pinned.

She turned her head, her neck straining as far as she could to be away from him even though besides their clothes they couldn't be any closer.

"Now _this _you might not like. But you've go**t **to take your **_medicine _**if you want to get aaaaany better."

He purred into the side of her neck, lifting himself just enough to reach for the knife to the side of him. Tenderly he held it in his still gloved hands—he'd almost wished he'd removed them to feel this a bit more he had a feeling that she would have been even more horrified at the intimacy.

See, if he'd had his coat he would have had an assortment of knives to tease her with. And instead this _beauty _was really a bit of a demon, six inches long and curved it was especially adept at disemboweling victims. It did such a quick job that they could watch their intestines start to pull away from their fleshy case. Ohhh now, he was excited.

Grinning down at her he put the knife on the side of her face in order to tilt her head back at him.

"Just look at me or I'll give you a **_smile_**."

He laughed, his voice playful and overjoyed at her struggling. He couldn't decide if she was finally getting tired or biding her time. She obliged her jaw clenched but her eyes just as guarded as they had been since he'd seen her.

"You're gonna wanna seeee this…"

He muttered as he lifted off of her just enough to have access to her chest. As he dragged the knife's dull side down the side of her neck he made sure to pay attention, looking for signs of struggle or perhaps pleading.

Instead, she hissed venomously

"You're shit and I don't believe anything you say… You're nothing… You're dead to everyone except me. I hope they think you're a copycat."

Well _that _was surprisingly perceptive coming from a girl who could barely breathe at the moment. He gave her a wink just as he turned the knife to plunge it into the soft area beneath her collarbone. He'd been waiting for her to scream and he was decidedly _not _disappointed. It had started with a gasp but as the wound fully caught the fire that the injury was sure to be causing, she arched her back hard onto him, practically grinding the blade deeper in some way to reserve the pain.

He loved this part, the writhing, the frustration, the little emotions on people faces. Hers was more fury than fear and her mouth had clenched so hard and suddenly that she'd bitten her tongue and blood welled up around her closed lips.

"You fucker goddamnit you fu-"

She cut herself off by suddenly lunging her teeth snapping in clear intention to bite him.

"**_Ohhhhohoho!"_**

He practically felt her dissapointement in her bones as she went back to weakly struggling, though now he reckoned she was too blinded by the pain to do anything permanent.

"You are just **loads **of _fuuuun _sweethear**t**. And now we _match-uh_"

He popped the 't' rudely in her face, baring his teeth at her.

"But now that I've finally got your….ah, attention there's a little matter I have to pick with you."

She'd gone half still, her face painted with sweat that he could see sparkling even in the light that hardly pierced the sheer curtains. Everything had gotten pink around them without either of them noticing it was time for a new day.

"So while you lose **consciousness **try to listen a little mmmkay?"

Nodding to confirm his own words, the Joker swiftly pulled the knife from her shoulder causing the wound to gush and her to moan, tilting her neck back and her eyes to roll up to her lids. He took no notice and leaned in as close as he could into the crook of her neck so her sweat coated the side of his face.

"You wanna hear how I **got. these. ****_scars…?"_**

AN: _**Aaaaaaaand cliffhanger. I'll be posting the next (and last) chapter this week! I just have a lot to do with classwork now. But it's all up in my head like a little steel trap.**_


	6. Epilogue, Prologue to many Possibilities

"What do you make of it?"

The Batman's voice sounded something closely related to a mechanical growl—Jim Gordan would one day find that it no longer made him jump when that voice suddenly came from the seemingly empty darkness of a room. Gordan had come after visiting hours as to not give anyone an indication of which room Erin Fare had been in, but naturally this also made it easier for the vigilante to be unnoticed. His figure seemed impossibly large as if he took up the entirely unused darkness in the hospital room across from the victim. Even as he stepped into the light, his heavy figure made little noise and Gordan sighed his way past another heart attack caused by the Dark Knight.

"…I don't know. It's him, isn't it?"

The Batman didn't answer, his cowl facing the small window of the hospital room. Gordan had turned the lights off as he left, she'd barely been able to stay awake even when they'd been talking—he highly doubted she hadn't gone straight to sleep. But still he took a step to face the vigilante just in case Erin thought he was staring.

"The story matches all of the evidence she supplied. It's just, well, it's his story that we actually have no way of knowing."

Jim Gordan glanced around the halls that the Joker had incinerated not even 3 years ago.

"Did you look into…"

"Yes." The Batman replied harshly, putting a folder into the lieutenant's hands. Observing the information with a deep frown that followed the lines on his forehead, Gordan chewed over what this information could imply.

"So… Poison. Evelyn Fare didn't pass on from natural causes."

Once more the Batman offered no reply so Gordan found himself compelled to state

"So this is telling me that psychopath wasn't lying. Oh, I'm sorry, the presumed _dead _psychopath wasn't lying."

The sarcasm in his tone was more than likely born out of a sense of frustration and lack of sleep that instantly appeared the moment he'd been pulled out of bed because of her 911 call. By the time police had tracked the call and arrived on the scene Erin was in near critical condition. Her memory of the event was supported by the substantial amount of physical evidence. But what was enough evidence to bring a villain 'back to life'? Was it truly the Joker making a "ta-dah!" gesture after faking his death? And if so, why so small scale?

Naturally, the whole city was going to wonder what was so "small" about it. Surely his actions might imply some much grander possibilities that were going to condemn this city to the hands of the madman yet again. After this line of thought; Gordan's frown was back.

"Evelyn Fare was part of the original foundation of true charity work in this city, there is nothing on her record to suggest any foul play that would warrant the notice of the Joker."

"But that means that she must have done something _good _enough to warrant that notice then."

Gordan stated firmly. He'd read similar information on the deceased woman and it made him feel both strangely admirable and quite sad. She wasn't an honored individual, most good people tend to go unrecognized. But it also meant they weren't any closer to finding much of a clue, the only thing that Gordan could think of is that…

"He might have known her. She might have known him."

Gordan looked to Batman, nodding. But of course, that left them both with the dim question of—then why come to brag about it? A sort of 'nah nah can't catch me gesture'? But no. Why wouldn't he have killed her before? And why would he visit her _granddaughter._

"Erin said that the Joker seemed not to know that Evelyn had died. Do you think that perhaps he had a personal relationship with the woman?"

The Batman's silence was a frustrating lack of confirmation or denial—but Gordan knew the man wasn't the type to sit around and bat theories back and forth. No, the vigilante would find the facts.

"She's requested to go to the funeral that she singlehandedly arranged. At this point we have no reason to believe she's suspect for anything and there's no reason to restrain her from doing so if her Doctors give their permission. But do you think that Erin's a target..?"

And naturally—Jim Gordan had been talking to thin air. Turning around to the dark room Batman had originated from the lieutenant took the necessary steps to head toward the now open window. Reaching out to shut it slowly almost as if to not wake the nonexistent occupant, the man ran a sure hand through his hair though his thoughts were scattered.

There weren't many reasons that her parents would ever return from an anthropological excursion early. However, Grandma Evie's death had certainly been an exception. And if it hadn't been enough of a reason, then surely the return of a stab-happy clown getting too enthusiastic with their daughter would have done it. Sure enough Erin had not felt so smothered in a long time. Her parents had been gone for two years and though she visited them in the summer time seeing them here in the Gotham November had been enough to send her into a bit of a fit. It had been more than enough to deal with. The psychologist she was seeing said that Erin was repressing the event instead of coping or dealing with it. The psychologist also said that this was to be expected.

Funny thing about being stabbed was that people didn't expect you to get over it. It wasn't like the death of a grandmother, for instance where everyone could offer you sympathy and a story about their own loss. No, pretty much if you were stabbed then people didn't know how to deal with you and they didn't expect you to deal with it yourself so overall—no one expected that much of her. But really, it had been the best time for her to have been attacked.

She didn't mean that she was happy about it, or that it made her life any better in any way. But it was the extreme pain of loss that she felt more clearly than the stitches in her shoulder and her constant fear of shadows.

Naturally, she'd had the electric company turn the power on. And in fact she couldn't imagine ever sleeping without the lights on ever again. But mainly the reason that she cried in the shower every morning before returning to her grandmother's house was not because of the trauma from the Joker—but rather the death of the woman who'd had such a hand in raising her.

It was a crime scene. And for the week after her injury Erin had been able to do nothing but heal. But with the help of painkillers she was now back at it. She could touch as much as she wanted but the house couldn't be put up for sale.

It was on the third night that she'd gotten a visit from Batman. Though every light was on in the godddamn house he still managed to sneak up on her which scared Erin almost to the point of swooning with relief once she realized it wasn't anyone in face-paint. She was a little sensitive to surprises lately. It was a…strange meeting. Sort of like talking to a shadow representation of a robot-father. Granted, that was incredibly far removed from reality especially considering she didn't think the Batman's age far exceeded her own so him being a father figure was improbable. Still, his quiet demands were few and far in between. Mostly he listened and stayed eerily still.

He told her that she was to communicate with the police as clearly as she could, which she'd been doing, and he told her to look out for anything that could be helpful while she was sorting through her grandmother's things. In the meantime, she gave him all of what she'd packed up as a form of evidence. She wished she could have witnessed the Batman carefully combing over every bit of her grandmother's humble belongings. The idea of him sorting through her sewing kit, for example, put a smile on her face.

His persistence to show up every night to gather the "evidence" she put out in boxes at 11:30 sharp made her feel safe. He wasn't visible but at least she knew she was checked up on. She doubted that he would have told her if he found anything incriminating but unless Batman saw anything in the mountains of sweaters, family photos, or the potholders in the shape of cakes, then so far she hadn't stumbled on any clues. But maybe he was scanning for…fibers or something.

She screwed her face up but couldn't help but grin, it was eleven pm now and she was just finished with the big box from the closet. Granted she now had no idea how she was gonna push it outside. Any big movements really strained on her stitches. Sitting down and putting her hands on either side of it, she pushed from her planted feet on the ground to drag it so it was out of the closet enough. Switching positions, she went to the other side of the box, resting her back on it and using her feet to push her so she didn't have to strain any part of her upper body.

Hoping the Batman wasn't early in his check up, because this very slow scrambling was not something she wanted him to witness, she made the box halfway to the door when one of her heels forced against the hardwood floors so hard that it actually popped it up from its resting place.

Her eyes went comically wide as the floor had suddenly given away from her demanding pushes.

"Well that certainly doesn't happen with laminate hardwood…"

She laughed, looking to see if she'd actually broken the board in the process. Houses were built in the earlier times of the city, and these floors were probably as old as her grandmother had been. Real wood, and it probably had warped with age so there was just the perfect opportunity to pop it up like a puzzle piece. Happily seeing it unbroken she went to see how it would fit back over the new hole right in the middle of the kitchen. That was when she saw the paper that was nested down underneath.

"Oh, oh no…."

She half whined, leaning down for a better look in what she thought was a little mouse house. As much of pests they were, Erin couldn't help but hate getting rid of them. They were such darling little things and so helpless…

But this was definitely _not _a mouse. Her lips parted as she pushed her hair over to the other side of her face so it wasn't in the way of her bending down. A scowl blossomed over her forehead as she tried to reach the paper that was nestled near the opening she'd created. Just barely out of reach she instead went to the adjacent hardwood. It was now that her hands had chosen to shake badly enough where this was a possible task. Suddenly the room seemed very dark despite the obnoxiously bright lighting. Her heart fluttered somewhere in her throat nearly choking her. She could hear him, feel him, whispering into her ear.

Fighting to maintain a sense of calm, she ripped off this piece of hardwood with much more intention than the first and snuck her hands past the baseboard to retrieve a neat stack of envelopes secured with a rubberband that barely had any elasticity left in it. Instead of snapping back into place, the band snapped when she went to remove it and she hastily opened up the first envelope. There were a stack of eleven all labeled with dates that at first glance appeared random. Not stopping to contemplate the significance of any of these details, her hands were already pawing through the contents and she found… pictures.

Staring dumbly at the Polaroid treasure she had to laugh at herself. She'd expected to find something ghastly or incriminating. But instead she found amateur shots that _she _had taken when she couldn't have been more than six or seven years old. She couldn't remember the stack of memories she held in her hand in a specific way. But what she could remember was that her grandmother used to allow underprivileged children of the narrows into her home for after school tutoring. This did not include Erin who attended more influential schools farther downtown. One of the things Evie had done to keep her granddaughter busy was giving her a little camera to take pictures that she would then develop every week. Evie would go over them with her and they'd pick their favorite ones.

Evie loved those children. This was right around when she'd retired but still wanted to assist in any way she could. Looking back on it now, Erin wondered how many children had graduated high school in part to her grandmother's patient instruction. Feeling the corner of her eyes sting Erin couldn't help but grin as she looked at the stack of photos. She'd now gotten to halfway through at least the first stack and it was obviously Christmas time. It looked like instead of the strict classwork, Evelyn had organized a meal and crafts for the children to do. Not a lot of them had the best homes to return to, and this was probably one of the better meals they would have.

Erin looked fondly at the students helping their tutor set out plates or fold napkins. These were the best pictures so far. Instead of countless shots of students pouring over their books or scowling at the camera because they were attempting to study—there were smiles all around. At one point Evelyn had obviously taken the camera so that Erin could join in the fun. Erin was small amidst most of the students. They were obviously middle school students and some teenagers in this group and Erin was probably no more than seven at this point. There was one boy who was as small as she was.

Erin felt a sudden elation of recognition. He had been nearest to her age, three or four years older. He didn't make fun of her like the rest of the boys, he was gentler than most and quieter than all of them. He wasn't particularly friendly but she could remember how much trouble he could get into. The picture she was currently looking at was of herself and her eyebrows raised in that childish insistence while the boy stood next to her crossing his eyes with his hands on his hips. _Jack_. The rush of familiarity of a childhood friend suddenly turned cold in her stomach as she went to the next picture.

This one was far less silly. It was somewhere in the middle of dinner when Erin had apparently decided it was time to shrink in her chair and pout at the table, she could only see the top of her head over some mashed potatoes. But that wasn't what caught her eye. It was Jack sitting next to her again but at this point he had a calmer face. His lips perked up lazily in a half smile as he thoughtfully was holding one of her pigtails, obviously trying to get her up to smile for the picture. But his profile…

The panic that had dissipated came back in a roar.

Suddenly she was spreading the pictures out over on the floor, looking at all of them with new eyes. Some of these students ended up having tragic fates. That occasionally happened in inner city schools. But overall, these children had luck on their side because they had Evelyn. Still, she could remember Jack. And the last distinct memory she had of him was demanding to know where he'd been. He kept saying that he would show up for tutoring but never would and had eventually disappeared all together. It wasn't like anyone was paying for the tutoring, and all of the students went away in their own time, but he had come over to this house every school day for three years like clockwork until…

The happy tears quickly built up into something more tumultuous and they fell down her face faster than she could wipe them away.

Jack had _died _and if the sudden increasing terror had any say in her memories then this was not the first time that Jack had come back from the dead.

Before she could register what was happening she'd clenched the picture in her hand, running out of the house to the back, screaming before she'd even opened the door.

"This was **why **wasn't it?"

Her voice had a hysterical edge and her face had taken on a flush that normally only happened when she'd over exerted her limited ability to sprint. She was panting too, half crying, half hyperventaliting.

"Oh god… Oh god…"

Pacing around she stared at the picture. Now in the dark, outside, she was looking around for Batman now _hoping _he was here early.

"Where are you?! Please… I have… I have…something…"

Now staring at the picture she stopped her frantic movements. Everything was familiar. She'd watched him more closely that night than anyone. She wouldn't have recognized him in fast forward, all scarred up and covered in a clown's façade. But she could recognize him in reverse.

That square face with those lazy lips and dark almond eyes. Now she was crying again. Her grandmother _had _known the Joker. And oh god. She was doing the math in her head. He'd known her seventeen years ago or less he'd been a baby, he'd been human. He'd been _here._

Suddenly she looked around, realizing quite suddenly… that there was no one here now. Not the Joker, not Jack…Not Batman.

And not Evelyn.

When was the last time she saw Jack? Was it after he'd stopped coming to tutoring? Was it after he started appearing on the news?

Slowly her tears had stopped and she wiped her nose aggressively on the back of her hand.

But what did she have really? Was this paranoia from a traumatic event?

Much like she had hoped the Joker was a dream, she felt the reality of the situation too strongly to believe this was a similarity in her head. She shakily sat on the back porch, now shivering from the cold as much as the shock of it. Closing her eyes she allowed to take herself back to a very different version of Jack the other night.

Even through the pain of a stabbing, he was a difficult man to ignore. He'd pressed his lips into her ear so securely it would have tickled in any other circumstance. Every word was like some strange wet kiss, he was sharing a secret.

"You wanna hear how I ** .****_scars_****?"**

It hissed in her memory like an ember being dunked in water and yet it still burned. She felt the burn in her shoulder all the way to her mind where she found the torture of his story replayed more clearly than she could recall it before.

"It starts off when I was young it starts off with a _teacher_. He liked to pick faaav-or-ite**s** and I was one of 'em. My mom thought it _was just __**grand**_ that I had such a nice big maaaan to look out for me. And since he didn't have any kids of his own it made _sense_ that he'd have so much time to put into meee… But his favoritism didn't go unnoticed by everyone. Y'see your **_Grand-mah, _**uh, thought it was time to stick up for me, maybe say that his _relationshi__**p**_ with me was a tad **in-ah-pprooopriate**. What would be so inappropriate about him giving me all A's hmmm?"

He'd laughed, as if he'd told a joke in that moment. She'd ceased struggling, the burn from her wound had been in her mind at that point and she'd tried to turn and look at him but he kept his lips plastered to her ear.

"But Eeee-vie noticed that maybe I wasn't turning in…the same kind of homework that all the other boys and girls wer. And maybe, **just ****_maybe_**, those bruises weren't just from a bit of good old fashioned wrestlin'... So Evelyn… She starts up a bit of a hassle for the poor…_innocent_…history teacher who was just trying to go… _above and beyond_ the call of his duty to help out the dirges of Gotham's youth… And he gets her _fiiiiired_. But after that, you see, I start realizing that maybe this was **_wrong_**."

It was at this point that his careful whispering was so mixed in with laughter and so close to her completely losing consciousness that she could barely understand a word.

" I was getting older at that point and something about her concern it touched me… I think he felt that and he wasn'**t** **happy** _noooo_. So in one of our rougher _sessions_ ,uh, he decides to use a bit more than just…**rope**. He wonders why I'm not enjoying myself and why suddenly I'm screaming… Aaaaaand…."

It replayed like a record and she wondered how to flip it off. It had been easier when he could have just been making up a story in order to traumatize her further but this Polaroid? Her lip quivered, her eyes wide and blank staring at the ground but only seeing those scars on his face. He laughed, and it echoed in her head. And she remembered Grandma Evie telling her that Jack had disappeared, that some people had said that he died. But Erin also kept remembering the figurines she'd boxed away in Evie's basement and how one of them had a red smiling face and a perfectly coifed suit. Everything spun around until she was nauseous with it, dizzy with the memory.

Even locked in her staring contest with the ground she still felt the air stir as he waited silently for an explanation. Before looking up to confirm his presence she lifted the sleeve of her sweater to look at her watch.

"You're right on time…"

She muttered dumbly before glancing up just enough to ascertain his location.

"…I think… I have something for you."

AN: _**All right! And that's a wrap! Maybe...? I could do a lot more but I sort of wanted a Joker origin story that wasn't so directly revealed? I hope you enjoyed if you read to this point. If you're interested in a sequel or maybe a more obvious origin story then let me know! I'm always looking for more amazing Joker fics so even if you have a recommendation, hit me up! - R**_


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